Three Mornings After
by SasukeBlade
Summary: Three awkward mornings after the night before. Franziska, Apollo, and Phoenix explore their new and uncertain relationships. F/A, K/A, P/E.


Originally posted on the PWKM under the name Three Mornings After the Night Before. Contains Franziska/Adrian, Klavier/Apollo, and Miles/Phoenix.

**Three Mornings After**

* * *

Dawn breaks pink and quiet, orange sunlight skirting fluffy clouds beyond the window. Franziska raises her head, muzzily blinking at the ray of light slowly making its way up the soft white duvet. For a moment she thinks that she really ought to close the curtains, that there's some reason, but it's a weekend, and so rather than attack the thought and the day, she lets it come to her slowly.

A soft snuffling comes from behind her, and suddenly the thought is attacking her. She should close the curtains because they might disturb Adrian, might wake her…and what if Adrian isn't happy to wake in Franziska's bed? She'd been so soft the night before, so eager, blue eyes flashing with no small amount of glee, but last night was not this morning. Of course it wasn't; what a foolish thought. But between her mental scolds, the niggling doubt persists. What if Adrian decides this is a mistake?

Behind her the steady breathing pauses, changes rhythm, and Franziska knows she can't hide a moment longer. She must be brave, she must be the von Karma. Schooling her expression to show none of her inner unhappiness, she rolls over and braces herself for the worst.

The exhausted, delighted, dazzling smile that graces Adrian's face as her blue eyes flutter open sets Franziska's heart stuttering against her ribcage. Adrian gives a delicate yawn, pink lips revealing small, perfectly even white teeth. Her eyes crinkle in a smile as she quietly says, "Good morning."

* * *

Apollo climbs from the depths of sleep with a mutter of reply that should have echoed the good morning, but only comes out as an unintelligible garble, batting at whatever has just pressed to his forehead. Still clinging to some sweet dream, he's not sure if the chuckle he hears is real or not. When he finally opens his eyes, small rays of sunshine streak the beige carpet and the haphazardly discarded pile of clothing he left behind last night, but he is alone in the bed.

It's a luxurious bed, sheets of the softest pale blue cotton he can imagine and more fluffy pillows than a sleepover of a dozen preteen girls would know what to do with. He'd thought Klavier would have satin sheets, but the rock star had only laughed, laughed and nipped at his ear, then his neck, then his collarbone when Apollo had shakily voiced the thought, somewhere between the bedroom door and his back hitting the mattress. Last night, the bed had barely seemed to contain their lovemaking.

Now, he feels small in this too large bed, adrift in the ocean of warmth that has somehow left him cold. Where is Klavier? Has he left him entirely? Last night, he'd thought it had meant something, but Klavier is gone, and maybe Apollo is supposed to make himself scarce.

Maybe Ema Skye is right, he thinks as he swiftly crawls from the bed and begins yanking his clothes on. Oh, they're a bit formal for this time of the morning, a bit formal and bit wrinkled, but surely he can make it back to his apartment without being noticed. Anyone he would know is likely nursing a hangover from Phoenix Wright's return to law party, or Passing the Bar: The Sequel, as Trucy had taken to calling it.

Ema Skye had always called Klavier a glimmerous fop, and he was, but last night he'd been Apollo's glimmerous fop, and it hurt in ways he didn't want to admit that Klavier was treating him like some kind of groupie.

Well, fine. Shrugging his vest on over his dress shirt, he pretends he is shrugging back on his dignity. All he has to do is keep it together until he reaches his apartment. He can handle that.

He misses the soft click of the door handle, but not the deep, amused voice that asks, "And where do you think you're going?"

* * *

Phoenix rubs a hand through his mussed spikes, suddenly feeling twenty-six years old and caught in another bluff in court. Only Edgeworth's voice isn't hard and triumphant, but rather soft, seductive, and almost worried. He turns back to where Miles is sprawled out in his bed, faded covers tucked firmly around him, and it shouldn't have surprised him that he'd be such a blanket hog. What did surprise him was that Miles had chosen to stay last night, with only a cursory complaint about the poor quality of his bedclothes.

Last night had been everything he'd ever hoped for and more. Somewhere around the fourth year of his disbarment, he'd given up on ever seeing the man again. They'd fallen out of touch, and he'd fallen out of idealism, but he hadn't fallen out of love. To have Edgeworth suddenly show up again after all these years at his celebration had been like having his heart repaired and broken and then repaired again, the mingled pain and joy leaving him gasping. But to have him in his bed had been like coming home.

His joy had been short lived. For a moment, upon waking, the tenderness he'd felt at seeing Miles's face, relaxed in sleep, had overwhelmed any fear of rejection. But then his logic had kicked in. Edgeworth hated feeling pressured, hated being trapped in inevitably emotional situations. Better to leave, hide in the kitchen, and let him make his escape. They could talk later. It wasn't a rejection, he'd reminded himself as he climbed into his old sweatpants. Edgeworth just needed space. It could still work out.

"Come back to bed," Miles says softly, and Phoenix's heart leaps when he tries out "Phoenix, err, Nick."

This time, there's no painful crash back to earth. His heart stays floating, pleasantly warm, as he takes in every aspect of this moment. He offers, with a grin of his own, "Coffee?"

* * *

"Ugh, yes please," Adrian groans in reply, throwing a hand up to shield her eyes from the light. Hastily, Franziska rises and shuts the curtains, bathing the room in comfortable dimness once more. Coffee is fuel for people leading such busy lives as theirs, but after watching Godot in court one day, she'd nearly sworn off the stuff.

What if Adrian is only being polite? Franziska bustles around the kitchen, idly tidying and trying hard not to listen for any telltale signs that she might be dressing, getting ready to leave. Von Karmas have impeccable manners, and as a PR consultant, Adrian could create pleasantries all day long. What if she regrets their night? For a moment Franziska's hand tightens around the air beside her hip, wishing for a phantom handle that would comfort her. She would never hurt Adrian, but even just holding the handle of her whip would help restore her control. When the machine finishes percolating, she quickly gathers the milk and sugar, loads both mugs neatly onto the tray, and sets off to the bedroom at a brisk pace.

When she nudges open the door with her hip and sees that Adrian has only moved so far as to rearrange the pillows, the simultaneous relief, adoration, and love nearly knocks her off her feet. Adrian hasn't left. Adrian looks as delighted to see Franziska as she is to see Adrian.

Still, she must do the right thing. Setting down the tray on the nightstand, she studiously avoids looking at the woman in her bed and the clothes draped neatly over a chair. "Miss Andrews, if you are in any way unhappy…"

Once upon a time, Adrian might have let her finish the speech she planned in the kitchen. In awe of the mighty Franziska von Karma—in those blue eyes she could do no wrong—she might even have let her talk her into leaving. But now, some nine years since they've met, Adrian only laughs, shaking her mussed blond hair back behind her shoulders. "Oh, Franzi," she says, and it gives them both a rush of happiness, this secret nickname that the rest of the world would never dare use, "I've been in love with you forever."

* * *

Apollo splutters, his tie falling out of his hands to the ground. Klavier seizes them, interlocking their fingers before he can even think to pull away.

"Ja, forever," he repeats, eyes twinkling with some perverse glee as Apollo's cheeks get redder and redder.

"But it was just, I'm just a one night stand for you," Apollo babbles, and the grin on the man's face across from him fades into something much more miserable. But Apollo can't stop himself, all his fears rushing to the surface. "Another groupie, a pathetic little fan you took pity on—"

"Never." Klavier looks hurt, as if Apollo's private pain has somehow wounded him too. "Apollo, Forehead—you do have a handsome forehead, don't scowl so or you'll get wrinkles—you could never be a one night stand. I would never do that to you."

He's been let down too many times to just accept Klavier's beautiful words, seen too many broken hearts and had his own scarred too many times to just take everything anyone says at face value. "I don't want to be jerked around," he says through clenched teeth, hating that he's hurting Klavier with this and resenting that he feels guilty for feeling hurt himself.

"I am not jerking you around," he says fervently, and Apollo believes him, but the fear isn't gone, the stupid fear that's kept him safe so far and how is it so hard to just be vulnerable? Klavier lets go of his hands, only to reach up and grasp him by the shoulders. "I love you, Apollo Justice. I don't want you just for one night; I want you for good. If you'll have me."

The bracelet on his arm hasn't twitched at all, not even once, and so Apollo seizes Klavier in a hug so strong that the taller man nearly squeaks when he laughs and says, "Last night, I knew what I was doing."

* * *

Phoenix rolls his eyes and smacks Edgeworth lightly on the shoulder. His best friend and new lover looks far too smug for having made so crappy a joke. "It wasn't that funny," he tells him, and rolls his eyes again when Miles begins to laugh at his facial expression. "Come on. If I'd wanted sex jokes, I'd have slept with Godot."

"Then you'd probably still be waiting," Edgeworth tries to say seriously, but the corners of his mouth quirk upward uncontrollably.

"Ha, ha," Phoenix replies, resting a knee on the mattress so he can lean over to kiss his surprisingly indolent lover. "You know, I always thought you'd be more… up and at 'em in the morning."

Miles is so goddamn handsome when he smiles, and it fills Phoenix up with happiness, keeps filling, until he thinks he might burst but somehow he just keeps finding more room for this joy. He kisses Miles again, softly, teasingly, then ducks away from his grasp and laughs playfully at the false pout his lover puts on. It suddenly occurs to him that they could have this forever, that they could do this every morning for the rest of their lives. And even though last night marked a new turn in both his career and his love life, the future doesn't scare him at all.

With a grin, he rises from the bed once more and asks, "So, what now?"

* * *

Adrian smiles that beautiful, eye crinkling grin and suggests, "Round Two?"

* * *

Apollo mock-glares as Klavier begins to laugh, but he silences the taller man by pulling him into a deep kiss.

* * *

Phoenix crawls back into bed with haste. He doesn't have to be asked twice.


End file.
